The coparceners

Author: Ardelis_fari

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, belongs to JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. Everything else (general plot, ideas, twists and turns, etc.) is the product of my ingenious mind!

Classification: Romance / Mystery / Suspense

Pairing: D/G

Rating: PG-13 (might go up in the later chapters)

Summary:

Excerpt:

“I don’t associate with Muggles, half-bloods and Muggle-lovers. Which part of this do you not understand?” he jeered.

“I didn’t ask for this to happen,” she spat and glared at him so viciously that he involuntarily took a step back. “But unfortunately we have to do this together.”

“Yes,” he gave her another contemptuous look, “and the sooner it’s over, the better.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

Warning: I started writing this before the sixth book came out, so my story contradicts it completely. There are two options we have: either accept the book and then modify its plotline to our liking, or pretend that it never happened. Incidentally, I prefer the latter. So, just ignore the HBP, i.e. Dumbledore didn’t die in it, Ginny never dated Potter, Malfoy never was a cold-blooded bastard and coward, etc.

CHAPTER ONE

The legacy of an old coot

“Miss Weasley, please sit down,” a middle-aged man with a balding head motioned to a chair. “I’m Philibert Greycliffe, the notary public representing Pembroke & Bells law firm.”

Ginny sat down and crossed her legs. Her elegant handbag was perched in her lap.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Greycliffe,” Ginny replied, inclining her head. “I must say I was surprised to receive your letter. I’m still not sure what I’m doing here.”

“Yes, I realize that very well, Miss Weasley. I was going to discuss this in person, as it is a very private matter.”

“You have the utmost of my attention, Mr. Greycliffe.”

“Well, I’m afraid we are missing someone else here. We cannot start until he appears.”

“Another lawyer?” Ginny inquired.

“Oh no, Miss Weasley. There is someone else involved in this delicate affair. As a matter of fact, you might be acquainted with that fine gentleman. It’s Mr. Malfoy.”

Ginny raised a thin brow. “Mr. Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy?”

The notary nodded stately.

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked in surprise.

“Yes, Miss Weasley. Mr. Malfoy is expected to be here too.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait for him then, won’t we? But I assure you, Mr. Greycliffe,” Ginny snorted, “that the definition of a ‘fine gentleman’ does not apply to Draco Malfoy!”

She leaned back in her chair and prepared to wait. For the lack of a better pastime, she looked about her. The office of Mr. Greycliffe was a very standard jurist’s office. Most of the space was occupied by a large mahogany desk. Upon it tiny ink-bottles were arranged in a line and the finest quills were kept in a silver case. High bookcases and filing cabinets were pushed against the walls. Just like many Ministry offices, this one had a window that was charmed to look like it had a view upon the street. Above Mr. Greycliffe’s head was hanging a portrait of substantial size in a heavy gilded frame. It depicted an old wizard in a dark purple mantle and an odd-shaped hat. On both sides of the portrait two framed diplomas were pinned, announcing that their holder had received the best possible juridical education one could get in the wizarding England. When there was nothing left in the office worth a curious glance, Ginny uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, this time the left leg on top.

She glanced at her watch and smirked. “He’s late, of course. He’s so busy, he can’t spare a minute. Obviously, good manners don’t come with a bank account at Gringotts.”

The notary shifted in his seat uncomfortably and dropped his eyes. He could sense a tinge of animosity in her voice when she talked about Draco Malfoy and that made him feel slightly ill at ease.

The next moment there was a knock on the door and in came Draco Malfoy. He greeted the lawyer and shook his hand. The fact that Ginny Weasley was present in the same room had been barely acknowledged. He didn’t even spare a glance in her direction and Ginny refused to look at him too. When he didn’t even apologize for being fifteen minutes late, Ginny’s low opinion of him was confirmed for good.

“Mister Malfoy, you are here at last. We can begin,” the jurist announced.

“Can you tell us now why we are here?” Ginny asked impatiently.

“Yes, certainly. The thing is that both of you are mentioned in the now deceased Albus Dumbledore’s will. You, Miss Weasley and you, Mr. Malfoy, are the so called coparceners.”

“What???” they both exclaimed.

“It means,” Mr. Greycliffe explained patiently, “that you two are sharing the legacy left by Professor Dumbledore, as mentioned in his will.”

“I don’t understand,” Ginny snapped. “Why Professor Dumbledore mentioned me in his will is not surprising, considering how kind he always was to me and my family. But why he would mention him as well is beyond me! And make us share some legacy no less!”

Draco Malfoy remained silent as he turned away from her accusing manicured finger.

“I am going to read his will, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Greycliffe suggested.

Ginny nodded and folded her arms in defeat. The lawyer cleared his throat and began reading:

________________________________________________________________________

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

OF

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, a resident and citizen of Dolwyddelan,

Lledr Valley, North Wales, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby make,

publish and declare this instrument to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking any

and all wills and codicils by me at any time heretofore made.

Item I

Real Estate

If I am the owner of any real estate at the time of my death, I instruct and empower

my Executor to sell such real estate, or to dispose of it, or any portion thereof,

as my Executor shall in his sole judgment determine to be for the best interest

of my estate.

Item II

Instruction Concerning Personal Property

I anticipate that included as a part of my property and estate at the time of my

death will be tangible personal property of various kinds, characters and values,

including all personal effects, books, paintings, magical implements and

other similar articles of tangible personal property held for personal use

and enjoyment. I hereby specifically instruct all concerned that my Executor,

herein appointed, shall have complete freedom and discretion as to disposal

of any and all such property so long as he shall act in good faith and in the best

interest of my estate, and his discretion so exercised shall not be subject

to question by anyone whomsoever.

Item III

Instruction Concerning Specified Items of Property

I hereby bequeath the rest of my property to Ginevra Molly Weasley and Draco

Lucius Malfoy. The said property includes a magical artifact called Liber Mysteriorum

or The Book of Mysteries, which is temporarily stored by my notary,

Mr. Philibert Greycliffe, and which I authorize to be given to the said beneficiaries

after my death. Under my last will and testament I appoint both Miss Weasley and

Mr. Malfoy to be coparceners of this item.

Item IV

Executor

I appoint as executor of this, my last will and testament, Minerva McGonagall.

I hereby direct that the said Executor shall be entitled by his last will and testament,

duly probated, to appoint a successor Executor of my estate.

If, for any reason, the said Executor be unable to serve or to continue to serve

as Executor, or if he be deceased and shall not have appointed a successor Executor,

by virtue of his last will and testament as stated above, then I appoint

Mr. Alden Pembroke of Pembroke & Bells law firm as successor Executor

of all estate required to be established hereunder.

In witness whereof, I set my hand this 25 day of March, 1998, at London, UK.

Testator: Albus Dumbledore

Witnesses: Philibert Greycliffe

Roland Bells

________________________________________________________________________

“You’ve got to be joking!!!” Ginny exclaimed and jumped out of her chair. “Give that to me!”

She snatched the paper from the stunned lawyer and read it herself. Her eyebrows knitted.

“I’m afraid this is genuine,” Mr. Greycliffe said with a nervous smile.

“I can see that now,” Ginny grumbled and threw the unsealed piece of parchment on the desk. “Still, this is very bizarre.”

“I understand,” the man nodded.

“You haven’t said anything yet,” Ginny asked, turning to Draco. “I suppose you are enjoying this farce?”

He looked at her for the first time. Long red hair. Freckles. Skinny, malnourished frame. Nothing had changed.

“I’m not too thrilled about this either, Weasley,” he said through clenched teeth. “And you make it sound like it was my idea.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Ginny snorted.

“I have to disappoint you, but it is very much a surprise to me too. Now, if you sit down and keep quiet, maybe we can hear the rest of it.”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. You are quite right. There are very precise instructions in the addendum of this will.”

“There is more?” Ginny asked, immensely relieved that some kind of explanation would follow. Maybe last year’s 25^th of March felt like the 1^st of April to Professor Dumbledore?

Philibert Greycliffe began to read:

________________________________________________________________________

Miss Weasley and Mr. Malfoy,

I realize fully that this might seem strange to both of you and you will probably

question my decision. However, this idea is not a whim of mine and

I suggest you take this seriously. What I’m leaving behind is not an ordinary

legacy, it’s more of a task. I bequeath you both with the most powerful

magical book of all times. This book, as the title implies, contains a mystery

that I entrust you to unravel. The condition of the will is that you two work

on it together. This mission might take a lot of your time and might at this

stage appear pointless, but I assure you that the results will be the most rewarding.

For now, I want you to think this over. If, for some reason, you are unable

or unwilling to work on this project together, then, alas, the secrets within

this book will remain undiscovered. If, however, you accept the conditions

laden upon you, you may begin on the book and quench your curiosity.

I sincerely hope that you will come to terms with this project some day and

maybe will even enjoy it. When you have made that decision, you will be

given the said book by my notary, Mr. Greycliffe.

I wish you the best of luck!

Yours truly,

Albus Dumbledore 

________________________________________________________________________

Now both Draco and Ginny looked confounded.

“What does this mean?” Draco asked for the first time.

“It means that you have time to decide whether you want to accept these conditions,” explained Mr. Greycliffe.

“We have a choice then?”

“Um. Well, um…I share the hope of the late Professor Dumbledore in that you might like this idea some day.”

Ginny and Draco shared a sour glance in each other’s direction.

“I shall give you five days for reflection,” the notary announced.

Ginny and Draco nodded.

“Well, I hope to see you soon,” he beamed at them.

His visitors did not return his smile as they said their goodbyes and left his office.

In the lift that was carrying them to the atrium, they occupied opposite corners, as far away from each other as physically possible in such a limited space. The hostility between them was so fierce that Ginny feared that the inter-department memo’s flapping above their heads would be set on fire.

Once they were in the atrium, Malfoy marched past the spluttering fountain, towards the fireplaces embedded in the wall. Ginny lingered behind. He took a pinch of the floo powder and whispered the point of his destination. In a moment he was gone. Ginny breathed easily. After a moment’s hesitation she Disapparated out of the Ministry into the Diagon Alley.

She Apparated right before the Gringotts Bank and almost got squashed by an overly excited gang of Quidditch fans that was hurrying towards the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop. She slowly made her way towards Florean Fortesque’s ice-cream parlour, which she found full of witches and wizards who were chatting over a cone of ice-cream and showing off the goods they had just purchased in the Diagon Alley. Ginny settled behind one of the tables and ordered coffee.

Slowly sipping from a beautiful china cup, she mulled over the testament. There was no way in a million years that she would be collaborating with Draco Malfoy. She respected the memory of the beloved headmaster, but he was pushing the limits. He was senile! To suggest something like that! What was he playing at? The whole idea of coparcenary seemed rather foolish. But most importantly, why did she have to share that bequest with Draco bloody Malfoy?! Did it have something to do with The Book of Mysteries? She’d never heard of such book before. Maybe this was a book on dark magic, which Malfoy was undoubtedly very skilled at?

It’s been a blissfully peaceful year since she last thought about Dark Arts and Death Eaters. In June, last year, Harry had finally conquered Lord Voldemort and everything that was ever associated with him fell into oblivion. From then on there were no ineffable names and no hooded figures in the dark alleyways. People like Malfoy, who alleged their loyalty to the Dark Lord, had lost their pivot and now looked more pathetic than intimidating. Most of them claimed that they pretended all along, for fear of being murdered; others blamed it on the Imperius Curse through which they acted upon Voldemort’s wishes. Draco Malfoy wasn’t either of those. He never admitted to have been mistaken or otherwise beguiled into serving His Lordship. He never apologized to anyone. After the death of his parents in the aftermath of Harry’s victory over Voldemort, he simply retreated to his Wiltshire Mansion and rarely appeared in public. Only once Ginny saw him at a Ministry party that was held in the honour of the inauguration of the new Minister for Magic.

She wasn’t surprised to see him there. While he was playing a recluse, he still was one of the prominent members of the Ministry circles and often endowed it with lavish donations. Every time he reappeared in public view, people resumed their speculations of his supposed remorse, then took in the consideration the tragic death of his both parents, which would have aggrieved anyone, and finally came to a conclusion that he wasn’t such a bed fellow after all and especially such a handsome orphan deserved a second chance. Good looks or not, Ginny didn’t buy it. To her, he was still a haughty, cruel bully who ruined her school years whenever an opportunity presented itself. She heard many a tale of self-flagellation, she saw many crocodile tears and didn’t seem to care. She just didn’t want to mingle with that sort of people ever again. And now she was made to do so. In accordance with the will, she had to work together with Malfoy.

Seething with anger, Ginny emptied the third cup of coffee and left the ice-cream parlour.

***

It was Friday, and like every Friday, Ginny was supposed to show up at a weekly family dinner at the Burrow. She welcomed these Friday evenings as a distraction from her strenuous work at the Ministry. Ever since she left home after graduating from Hogwarts, she barely got a chance to visit her family. She considered herself extremely lucky when she got a glimpse of her father in the Ministry corridors during the week. That’s why she was always looking forward to the regular family dinners.

“Is everything all right, darling?” Mrs. Weasley asked when she saw Ginny glaring at a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

Ginny started and realized that she was attempting to use her spoon as a voodoo doll representing a certain person. “I’m fine, mum.”

“Having a hard time at work?” her father asked, concerned. “By the way, I saw you leaving the notary’s office on the fifth floor a few days ago. There isn’t any trouble, I hope?”

Ginny blanched visibly at his words. The twins looked at her, thrilled at the prospect of hearing some gossip, but her parents looked worried.

“You’ll never believe what happened,” Ginny sighed.

“Someone is suing you?” Fred suggested with a wide grin on his freckled face.

“No. Someone has left me an inheritance,” she said sadly.

“If you don’t want it, we’d take it gladly. Wouldn’t we, George?” one of the twins winked mischievously.

“I doubt you would,” Ginny grumbled.

“But who left you the inheritance, dear?” Molly asked.

“Professor Dumbledore.”

Everyone looked confused.

“What did he leave you?” Charlie wondered aloud. “A house?”

“It’s not real estate,” Ginny shook her head. “It’s not something I can sell or exchange.”

“Well, what is it then?” her brother was surprised.

“It’s a book.”

Her family looked puzzled.

“You inherited a book,” Bill ascertained calmly. “Anything special?”

There were no shortcuts and she had to start from the beginning. So she did. When she finished, everyone at the table gaped at her.

“Why on earth did he make the two of you joint heirs of his property?” voiced Ron an obvious question.

Ginny shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

“Are you going to accept it?”

She wasn’t anxious to see Malfoy again and she doubted that she would ever enjoy working together with him.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “But I’m curious to find out what Dumbledore’s intention was.”

That night when she lay awake in her old bedroom in the Burrow, she was still weighing the pros and cons of their partnership. Professor Dumbledore had formulated that addendum in such a skillful way that it was hardly possible to feel compelled and yet Ginny was sure that there was no way out of this noose.

“Soon,” she promised to no one in particular. “It’ll be over soon.”

***

A long way off, a young man was anxiously pacing the sitting room of his two-storey mansion. It started to rain. Tiny rivulets splattered against the window panes, as the thunder rolled overhead. Three more steps to the opposite wall and then back. The anxiety was increasing and he found it hard to just sit or stand still.

When he was crossing the room for the fiftieth time, he looked out of the window. For a brief moment he watched the bleak hills around the mansion getting soaked in rain-water. Then he closed his eyes. Agonizing thoughts raced through his head. Dumbledore. The Book. Ginny Weasley. It all came like a bolt from the blue and disrupted his carefully constructed routine.

What should he do?

At last he turned away from the window and strode toward the door. The corridor beyond it was dark and he lit his wand. He followed the familiar route, until he arrived at a door. He fumbled in his pocket for a key, then finally fished it out and unlocked the door. It swung open with a creak and he stepped inside. Then the door closed behind him and the corridor was once again pitch-dark.

Disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies.

A/N: here’s the next installment. The chapters tend to be a bit short, sorry about that. Please, don’t forget to review!

Some of you asked about the mysterious door. I promise to explain it later. All I can say right now is that it’s quite important for understanding Draco’s character. Good question though!

CHAPTER 2

I hate you too

Exactly five days later, Ginny found a letter from Pembroke & Bells in her letter-box. Mr. Greycliffe was reminding her of their agreement and kindly asking her to step by his office that same day, at noon. Mr. Malfoy had been notified too.

Mr. Malfoy had been notified, huh? Mr. Malfoy could go to hell, for all she cared.

Nevertheless, she dressed with extra flair that morning, a little unsure of whom she wanted to impress. When both the hour and the minute hand were pointing to twelve, she left her office and took the lift to the fifth floor. Before the door to the notary’s office, she paused, took a deep breath and then entered.

Malfoy was already there. Ginny greeted Mr. Greycliffe and took a seat. As usually, Draco was cutting her dead.

“What have you decided on this matter?” the notary asked kindly.

Ginny looked to her right and waited for Draco to respond. He was, however, studying the cuff-links of his shirt and refused to meet her gaze.

“I am willing to give this a try, on the condition that Mr. Malfoy will behave properly,” Ginny said as she stared hard at Draco.

He looked up at the notary, still ignoring Ginny, and nodded, thus giving his consent.

“I’m glad we’ve reached a decision!” Mr. Greycliffe rubbed his hands gleefully. “Professor Dumbledore would be delighted.”

“So, what is this book about anyway?” Draco asked.

“Oh, I haven’t told you yet, have I? It concerns a well-known magnum opus. Liber Mysteriorum was rumored to have been written by Fra Filippo, a prominent friar of the Carmelite Order, somewhere at the end of the 12^th century. Since no one knew for sure, the sloppy handwriting had always been attributed to the infamous friar. Legend has it that it was bought from an abbey in Kent by a 13^th

century alchemist, who acquired it for his vast collection of ancient books. It had been kept in his private library for many generations, until it was moved to Italy as part of the dowry of the said alchemist’s great-great-granddaughter. It took place in 1521. I have not been informed as to from whom Professor Dumbledore received or purchased this book. It is, after all, very rare and valuable. There are currently three copies in circulation, but only this one is authentic. I ascertained it myself. It is, as I have said, of great value and can only be compared to The Key of Solomon, which was attributed to the legendary King Solomon.”

“It’s a grimoire,” Draco explained, turning to Ginny. “It means-”

“I know what a grimoire is,” she snapped. “I’m not ignorant!”

“Well, that’s a relief. So, you do have some brains after all. I was afraid that I’d have to do all the work by myself.”

“You won’t believe this,” she hissed, “but I’d rather work on this project alone. It would spare me from seeing your disgusting face every day.”

Ginny then turned back to the astonished notary with a sweet smile on her face and urged him to continue his narration.

“Just like The Greater Key of Solomon and The Lesser Key of Solomon, otherwise known as Lemegeton, this is one of the greatest grimoires in the history of magic.”

“What’s in it?” Ginny asked.

“That’s the question!” exclaimed Mr. Greycliffe. “No one knows, because it’s encrypted. So many people have tried to decipher the book, but to a lay person it is just a number of words and pictures. There is one thing they knew for sure: behind that all was wisdom and power!”

“Can I have a look at it?” Ginny asked, in awe of the mysterious story.

“Of course.”

The man walked to the wall and, tapping a particular spot with his wand, whispered an incantation of the opening charm. The wooden panels slid apart and revealed a hollow space behind. He reached inside and took out the book that was wrapped in a peace of canvas. Carefully, he carried it back and put on the desk for Ginny and Draco to see.

When he unwrapped it, Ginny let out a sigh of reverence. Although the history of this folio spanned many centuries, it didn’t look worn. It was bound with green-coloured polished shagreen. The golden clasp on it was shining too. The title in the same golden letters said: Liber Mysteriorum.

Unhindered, Ginny took it in her lap (while noting to herself that it was probably a few pounds less heavy than herself) and opened it on the first page. It was written by hand, as any true grimoire should be. The parchment pages were yellowed and the blue ink slightly faded. Like the notary said, the handwriting was sloppy, but still very medieval, with fancy curlicues here and there. She leafed through the book and noticed that the text alternated with colourful pictures and odd-looking equations.

“Some of it is in Latin,” Ginny noted thoughtfully.

“I’m sure I can read it,” Draco claimed self-assuredly. “I’ve had proper education, which includes Greek and Latin, of course.”

“Oh really? May I enquire where you have learned to speak these fine languages?” Mr. Greycliffe asked curiously.

“At Pompous Git Institution,” Ginny grumbled.

“I had a private tutor,” Draco replied disdainfully.

“Very nice,” the lawyer said, trying to remain calm. He had noticed that there might be some tension between those two and he wondered if they would get along some day, as it was essential for the completion of the task.

Ginny ground her teeth in frustration. She could hardly resist the desire to stub Malfoy with the nib of her quill. She shut the book and put it back on the desk.

“Any questions so far?” the notary asked again.

They shook their heads.

“All right then. The book is yours and you may begin whenever you wish, that is at your discretion.”

He wrapped the book in the layers of fabric again and held it out.

“I’m keeping this,” Ginny anticipated his question and took the heavy lump from him. Draco shrugged indifferently.

They all got up and Philibert Greycliffe walked with them to the door.

“I do hope you will enjoy it. If you encounter any problems, please, don’t hesitate to ask for advice.”

Neither of them shared his enthusiasm. Ginny was already at the door, when a thought occurred to her.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, certainly,” replied Mr. Greycliffe.

“When Professor Dumbledore made that will on the 25^th of March last year, did he know that he

would die three months later?”

His expression changed and he peered at her. At last he said: “He acted a bit strangely, I thought. Mysterious and sad. Now that I look back, I suppose he knew or at least suspected something.”

Ginny nodded and left the office after Malfoy. He strode down the corridor towards the lift, without sparing her another glance.

“Wait!” Ginny ran after him. “Where do you think you are going?”

Draco stopped in his tracks, turned slowly and looked her over. Nope, nothing had changed since yesterday. She was still the same ill-bred, annoying bint.

“What is it?” he drawled.

“We haven’t decided anything about the book. And I’d like you to make an effort and be more civil when you talk to me!”

“I don’t associate with Muggles, half-bloods and Muggle-lovers. Which part of this do you not understand?” he jeered.

“I didn’t ask for this to happen,” she spat and glared at him so viciously that he involuntarily took a step back. She won’t let him victimize her in any way, she decided. “But unfortunately we have to do this together.”

“Yes,” he gave her another contemptuous look, “and the sooner it’s over, the better.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more. So, when shall we start? And where?”

She’d rather choose a neutral territory. She had no intention of letting Malfoy come into her apartment, and wouldn’t set her foot inside the Malfoy Mansion, if she could help it.

“We shall begin tomorrow then,” he nodded. “I’ll let you know what time and where.”

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And she walked off in the direction of the stairs, on the way to her office.

As the day was drawing to an end, Ginny awaited the upcoming meeting with dread and excitement. While seeing Malfoy was the last thing she wanted to do, she couldn’t wait to get at the business in hand. She had to admit that the lawyer managed to enthrall her with his story. And just in less than a day she’d be unraveling a medieval mystery!

But that would be tomorrow. Until then she had a great deal of reading to do. She wanted to know what exactly she got herself involved in, and besides, and most importantly, she didn’t fancy appearing an ignoramus in the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Once at home, she made herself a cup of strong tea and then went into her study. An omnivorous reader as she was, Ginny never missed an opportunity to buy a few books whenever she was in the vicinity of a bookshop. While she wasn’t rich enough to buy a lot, she still had a decent library at home. Here was soft morocco, calf skin, wooden bindings and many a page beautifully illustrated with vignettes, emblems and armorial bearings. And cheap books of spells were as equally treasured as facsimile charters of medieval cities. Now she was gazing lovingly at the bookshelves that lined the walls, treating each book to a special affectionate look, which, if directed at any man in England, would have never gone unnoticed.

She finally rested her eyes on a particularly old-looking book on the leftmost shelf. She removed it carefully and placed it in her lap. It was a beautiful roan-bound edition of The Complete Magical Encyclopaedia, obtained at a recent sale at Flourish and Blotts. This cost her a third of her monthly salary, but was still worth every Knut she had spent on it.

She opened it and first consulted the index, looking for ‘grimoire’.

“Grimoire,” she then read out loud, “which literally means ‘grammar’, is a book of magical knowledge, written between the late-medieval period and the 18^th century. Such books contain

astrological correspondences, lists of angels and demons, directions on casting charms and spells, on mixing medicines, summoning unearthly entities, and making talismans. Grimoires first came into common use around the 13th century and are thought by some to have been linked to the Knights Templar. Much of the material in grimoires is taken from Egyptian texts dating back to around 100 A.D.”

The list of famous grimoires followed:

The Key of Solomon

Ars Steganographiae of Abbott Johannes Trithemius

The Sworne Booke of Honorius

Liber Mysteriorum of Fra Filippo

Compendium Heptarchiae Mysticae of Dr. John Dee

She curiously read the reference articles.

“…The Key of Solomon (Clavicula Salomonis) is one of many classical, medieval and Renaissance magical texts, known as grimoires, claiming the authorship of King Solomon, renowned for his wisdom and spiritual powers. According to the legend, it was written in the 10^th century B.C. The first mention of the grimoire dates back to the 1^st century. Another book, also ascribed to Solomon,

is Lemegeton (The Lesser Key of Solomon). It is the first grimoire to describe two divisions in magic – Carmen (on spells and magical formulas) and Goetia (on evoking and conjuring the demons).”

“Johannes Trithemius (1462-1516), the teacher of Agrippa and Paracelsus, wrote Ars Steganographiae at the end of the 15^th century. Some claimed it to be co-authored by the notorious

Dr. Faust (1480-1540). On the surface it is a system of angel magic, but within is a highly sophisticated system of cryptography. It claims to contain a synthesis of the science of knowledge, the art of memory, magic, an accelerated language learning system, and a method of sending messages without symbols or messenger. It’s also been said that he used cryptography to write down alchemical processes. The method of concealing one text inside the other was very popular in alchemy.

In private circulation, Ars Steganographia was highly valued. John Dee, whose Enochian system of angelic magic was influenced by Steganographia, noted that one thousand crowns had been offered for a copy of this work. On the other hand, it brought such a reaction of fear that Trithemius decided it should never be published. He reportedly destroyed the more extreme portions (presumably instructions for prophecy/divination) but it continued to circulate in manuscript form and was eventually published posthumously in 1606.”

“The Sworne Booke of Honorius (Liber Juratus), which was most probably written in the 13^th century,

contains instructions on how to conjure and command demons, to work other magical operations, and knowledge of what lies in Heaven among other highly sought information. Like many grimoires, this one has lengthy dissertations for proper operation and seals to be used.

This is one of the oldest existing medieval grimoires as well as one of the most influential. It is said that Dr. John Dee had this book in his private library. Another famous occultist, Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, has also been rumored to be influenced by this work. The Liber Juratus can be classified as a Solomonic Grimoire due to its heavy use of angelic powers and seals like those found in The Greater Key of Solomon.”

“Liber Mysteriorum is one of the most enigmatic grimoires ever written. Its real name is The Book of Mysteries, but it’s often simply referred to as The Book. Even to this day no one knows precisely what the book is about, all one sees there are astrological charts, poems, mathematical sequences and pictures. For the lack of a unified truth, people believed that this was an encrypted message (much like Trithemius’ work) on how to make the Philosopher’s Stone. As the word got around, many other books followed, copying the mysterious nature of the original, but they had absolutely no power whatsoever and were therefore useless. Some of them include: Corpus Mysterium, Trattata Anglesia, The Testament of Albertus the Mage, etc. The most curious book of them all was, however, Secretum Secretorum (Secret of Secrets). It was an abridged version of The Book and therefore more truthful. It was composed by one of the followers of Fra Filippo around 1214 in assignment for Duke William of Rochester. It was extremely influential throughout the Middle Ages and Renaissance. But, alas, no man ever succeeded in decrypting it. With time, like many other books of this nature, Secretum Secretorum failed to hold the interest of the general public and settled down in libraries and private collections…”

Ginny rubbed her temples tiredly. There was too much information already for her to grasp. Besides, first she had to have a proper look at Liber Mysteriorum and try to analyze it. And that she put off for later, meaning to start on it together with Malfoy, as planned. The mound of work that she had pictured, grew steadily into a gigantic mountain. But she reassured herself – what she had done already, was enough to share with Malfoy and from thereon they could work together.

Satisfied with herself, she stood up from the sofa and stretched. After stashing the books away, she contemplated running a bath.

When the bathtub was filled with hot water, she sank into the thick coat of foam. She leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing her body to relax. Again, in her thoughts she recurred to the subject of The Book. She had to admit that she was actually enjoying this project. Yes, the project. Certainly not her partner with whom she reluctantly agreed to be paired up. Draco was strong and muscular, but she didn’t care two straws about his brawny frame. She couldn’t forget the atrocities he had committed at school with impunity. Every time he did something mean to her or to her friends, he managed to get away with it! And that’s all because he was a Slytherin and he came from an affluent family. And, perhaps, because he wasn’t particularly ugly, she admitted unwillingly.

He was always popular, she remembered. For some reason girls always adored him and his scurvy nature and he was never short of female company. Not that she cared. Still, she couldn’t help wonder if he was still seeing anyone, now that he was playing a recluse. She, on her part, was convinced that he was fooling everyone with that tale of remorse and guilty conscience, and all the while was engaged in wild orgies with numerous concubines in the sumptuous bedrooms of the house. She had never seen the inside of the mansion, but she imagined it to be grand. She laughed when she pictured a real-life harem stationed there.

But, she told herself again, she didn’t give a damn about it. What she was really interested in, was the reason why he agreed to collaborate with her. Even at Hogwarts he never rubbed shoulders with base-born or otherwise unworthy of his attention. Why had he agreed to do just that now? What made him say yes? Was he just curious about The Book? Or was there more to it? He could have refused and, she was sure, he wanted refuse instantly. But he didn’t. This naturally made her a little apprehensive. Was she in danger? What nonsense! Of course he wouldn’t try anything funny. Nonetheless, she wasn’t too keen on seeing Malfoy more than it was really necessary.

He was absolutely right, the sooner this all was over the better.

***

When Ginny woke up next morning, she saw a beautiful grey owl outside her window. She undid the latch and let the bird in. It alighted, thrusting the letter in its beak into Ginny’s hand. Curious, Ginny tore the envelope.

Mr. Malfoy’s secretary was informing her that unfortunately Mr. Malfoy could not confirm their appointment for that day as he was busy elsewhere. He would let her know which day would be more convenient for him.

“That wretch!” Ginny roared, frightening the poor owl.

She jumped out of the bed and started pacing the bedroom, almost tripping on the hem of her night-gown in agitation. She was fuming.

He was busy elsewhere?! How dared he cancel their appointment! He thought she could just put her life on hold and spend all the time studying ancient books? What did he take her for?! Oh right, she was one of those second-rate people – a blood-traitor!

“Now, we’ll just see about that, Mr. Malfoy!” Ginny thought maliciously, as she murmured ‘Incendio’ and the note in her hand burst into flames.

Disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies.

A/N: There are some famous names and titles which I will be using throughout this story and which I will sometimes change or modify to better suit the plot. Fra Filippo was, for instance, a former friar and a Renaissance painter, but the book I have falsely attributed to him, does not exist. There is also no such thing as Corpus Mysterium or Secretum Secretorum. It’s all made up. There is however a book called Three Books of Occult Philosophy which was written by Agrippa and which partly served as a prototype for Liber Mysteriorum.

Oh yeah, many thanks to everyone who took time to review this story! Sorry that I had to keep you waiting for so long.

CHAPTER 3

Mystery galore

Draco Apparated into the entrance hall of his luxurious mansion with a loud ‘crack’. He dusted off his traveling cloak and slowly walked through the enfilade of dark abandoned rooms. A shadow passed over his pale face when his gaze fell upon the slip-covered furniture and curtained off windows. In the high-ceilinged hall he paused and leaned against the wall. He was tired.

Then, he sighed and pushed the doors before him open and entered the sitting-room. Still in the doorway, he froze and stared before him.

“What the-?” he stopped in the middle of the sentence.

On the silk-upholstered settee next to the extinguished fire-place sat a red-haired vixen, bearing an unmistakable expression of demonic fury on her otherwise pretty face. It was, as Draco noted with shock and anger, the one and only Ginevra Weasley.

“Where have you been?!” she rounded on him.

“None of your business,” he muttered through gritted teeth, as he proceeded to plank himself on one of the arm-chairs.

“Well, it became my business the moment we set foot in Mr. Greycliffe’s office! And I have a right to know where you have been all this time when you should have been in London, working on the bleeding project!”

“I was seeing to some urgent business on the Scilly Isles, if you really must know,” he replied as calmly as ever. “And I don’t remember inviting you to my house.”

“You are the most irresponsible person I’ve ever met!” she exclaimed, ignoring his last remark. “You have no consideration for others whatsoever! You dare to cancel our appointment, which I took seriously and was preparing for, and then I don’t hear anything from you for more than a week, because you’re too busy having fun on some ruddy island! What we are entrusted to do by Professor Dumbledore is of utmost importance and I suggest you treat this mutter as such!”

Her nostrils were flaring and her chest was heaving. An infuriating delay in work, coupled with his carelessness, maddened her even more.

Draco looked her over lazily from head to toe, taking in her lovely red hair and a tight-fitting cloak of surprisingly good quality.

“We’ve wasted too much time. We should get started on the book,” Ginny stated, still glaring at him.

With that she emptied her bag on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. Draco had no choice but to follow.

The contents of Ginny’s bag formed a pile of reference books, notepads and loose scraps of parchment. Liber Mysteriorum lay however in a separate slip-cover. Ginny took it out and put it on the table together with the rest of the books.

“Have you done anything yet?” Draco asked, scanning some of her notes.

“Yes, I have, as a matter of fact,” she replied coldly. “I’ve done some research to have a clear view of what we are dealing with. But I haven’t worked on The Book yet, since we’re supposed to be doing it together.”

Draco was about to say that she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own anyway, because she didn’t know any Latin, but refrained from abuse. Instead he just nodded wearily.

“Well, I thought you needed to be as informed, so I made a short summary for you. Here,” she thrust her notes in his hand.

He took them from her and, sighing inwardly, made himself read, though he’d rather take a nap and forget all about Ginny Weasley and the bloody book. Ginny waited for him to finish and when he was done, she opened Liber Mysteriorum on the first page.

The yellowed page had a slightly musty smell to it. In the upper left corner of it was a bright illustration of a mage in star-spangled robes, with his wand drawn. His long hair and beard were grey and his face was lined. A simultaneous thought occurred to both Ginny and Draco that the wizard on the picture looked very much like the late Professor Dumbledore to whom they owned the honour of working together.

The passage below was easily discernable and Ginny read it aloud.

Magick is a faculty of wonderfull vertue, full of most high mysteries, containing the most profound Contemplation of most secret things, together with the nature, power, quality, substance, and vertues thereof, as also the knowledge of whole nature, and it doth instruct us concerning the differing, and agreement of things amongst themselves, whence it produceth its wonderfull effects, by uniting the vertues of things through the application of them one to the other, and to their inferior sutable subjects, joyning and knitting them together thoroughly by the powers, and vertues of the superior Bodies.

Beside the passage, in the margin, the same hand had scribbled: Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa - Three Books of Magick, bk. 1, chap. 34, p. 246.

Ginny stared at these words and then reread the passage. She frowned.

Draco looked at her across the table. Absorbed in thought, she was twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. Her cheeks were still coloured from the argument they had had earlier. His eyes moved across a thin sheen of the lip-gloss that covered her puffy lips. With amusement he realized that Ginny was an attractive girl. He made a note of it for future, in case their research got too boring and he’d want to have a little fun. He might as well kill two birds with one stone.

“This doesn’t make sense!” Ginny uttered at last.

“Huh?” Draco shook his head and stared at her. “What were you saying?”

“Read this!” she ordered and pointed to two short lines in the margin of the page.

“I already have,” Draco replied coldly.

“Well, haven’t you noticed anything unusual?” she was wide-eyed with surprise. “Urgh, of course, you haven’t!”

Draco didn’t quite like that ‘of course’ bit. Was she implying that he was thick?!

“I suppose, it’s taken from a book written by Agrippa,” he gritted, “a famous 15^th century

magician.”

“Precisely!” Ginny exclaimed again. “A 15^th century magician! How could Fra Filippo, who, I must remind you, lived in the 12^th century, have known Agrippa, let alone have read his book?!”

Now Draco got it too. He stared at her, open-mouthed. And that was a bad sign. Already Ginny proved that she was much brighter and more sharp-witted and he desperately needed to come up with a smart answer in order to at least measure up to her.

“That can only mean that he could foretell the future,” he blurted out.

“Hmm, I think you are right,” Ginny nodded thoughtfully. “That explains a lot.”

Draco’s spirits rose and he beamed proudly. He moved the book closer to himself and turned the page. When he read the first sentence on the top of the next page, he felt once again that he was gaining advantage over Ginny. For the words said:

Saeculorum novus nascitur ordo

Swelling with pride and smirking, Draco waited for Ginny to ask him what the words meant, since she didn’t speak any Latin. Ginny didn’t keep him waiting for too long and looked at him questioningly.

“Well, Mr. Polyglot, care to explain what it means?” she asked sarcastically.

“It means ‘a new time begins’,” he replied vainly.

“Very interesting,” Ginny murmured and proceeded to read the strophe that followed, which, she noted gratefully, was written in English.

Ten cranes guard the door under the stars.

The white and the red rose will travel

To the city of bridges before the sky turns black.

The waxing crescent will end the war.

Neither of them understood what it meant. Ginny frowned and Draco looked at her hopefully.

“Any ideas?” he ventured to ask.

Ginny shook her head and repeated the lines in a low whisper.

“I don’t know what it means, but it sounds very familiar,” she said at last.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s complete and utter nonsense. I mean, the white and the red rose? Ten cranes? That friar was seriously off his rocker.”

“You’re right, the words don’t make any sense. But there is something about this quatrain, it…,” she broke off. “Wait, it’s a quatrain…a quatrain…and it narrates the events that are about to happen…,” she paused dramatically and then exclaimed: “It’s a prophecy!”

“A prophecy?” Draco echoed disbelievingly.

Ginny was gesticulating emphatically. “Precisely! And if this is a prophecy and written in the form of a quatrain, then it must have been written by Nostradamus!”

Draco burst out laughing. “That charlatan?”

“He wasn’t a charlatan!” Ginny replied passionately. “His prophecies always came true! It all fits! Michel Nostradamus was a notorious 15^th century seer. Again, I can’t help notice that Fra Filippo had a certain affinity with the 15^th century wizards. Nostradamus wrote quatrains in which he

prophesized major events in the future, like wars and calamities. And we’ve established that Fra Flippo was a seer too. I wonder how it’s all connected.”

“But you’re forgetting that Michel Nostradamus never wrote his prophecies in English!” Draco said. “They were mostly in Old French or Latin and they always rhymed.”

“Fra Filippo could have translated it in English,” she retorted.

“Why would he do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Ginny replied venomously. “Maybe he wanted to make it easier for us, since we don’t speak Old French?”

“Ha-ha. Funny,” he said sourly.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him and struggled to read the next portion of the text.

Accipe quam primum, brevis est occasion lucri.

Respue, quod non es.

Certum est et inevitabile fatum.

Aut amat aut odit mulier, nil est tertium.

Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te.

Urbs antiqua ruit multos dominate per annos.

Mea!

“Well, what does it say?” she asked impatiently.

“I’m afraid it’s just another piece of gibberish,” he sighed.

“Let’s hear it,” Ginny urged.

A little reluctantly, Draco translated aloud:

Strike while iron is hot.

Reject that what you are not, in other words be yourself or be what you really are.

Fate is definite and unavoidable.

A woman either loves or hates, there’s no third option.

I can’t live with you, but I can’t live without you either.

An old city that ruled for so many years will collapse.

Hurry!

“It’s not a poem,” Ginny said, looking utterly perplexed.

“Yeah, I’ve guessed that much,” Draco smirked.

“All right. Let’s just try to analyze this. From what I gathered it’s not a poem, since it has no rhyme or meter. There are seven lines, which show no connection whatsoever. Am I right so far?”

Draco nodded.

“Do these Latin aphorisms ring a bell?” she asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Draco blinked.

“You’re the one who studied Latin, not me!” Ginny sighed exasperatedly. “Maybe there is something peculiar about them. A special meaning, perhaps?”

Draco shook his head resolutely. Ginny sagged in her armchair and looked disappointed.

“Ok, let’s think about this again,” she persisted.

“Why don’t we just skip it and move on?” Draco suggested with a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

“We’ve already skipped a quatrain, remember? And we haven’t gotten far with this book yet. All we know, or rather assume, is that Fra Filippo was a seer and that the quatrain was written by Nostradamus. We can’t afford to miss out anything. Let’s just try to analyze it again.”

Sighing, Draco rose from the sofa. He approached a niche in the farthest wall and poured himself some wine. Without turning around to face Ginny, he asked: “Do you think he did this on purpose?”

Ginny tore her gaze from the book and stared at him. “What? Who did what on purpose?”

“Dumbledore,” Draco murmured. “I reckon he made us do this for a reason.”

“Duh, that’s a new one. He obviously had a reason in mind. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Well, I can’t stop thinking about it. I think it’s pointless. This book is full of nonsense.”

“Are you saying you want to quit?” Ginny’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “We’ve just started!”

Draco returned with two glasses of wine and put one of them in front of Ginny. “No, I’m not quitting. I just see no point.”

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s just focus on this rebus, shall we? I’m sure we’ll be able to figure it out.”

Draco shrugged and took another swig.

Ginny began to copy the Latin sentences into her notepad. She scribbled furiously and then crossed things out. She even tried to reverse the words, or make anagrams, but to no avail. Still, she didn’t give up and started from the beginning.

Draco sat slumped in his plush arm-chair, weary, his head heavy like a cannonball. It felt so heavy that it seemed to him that his neck could not support its weight anymore and any moment now it would snap in two. He leaned back and cautiously put his head down on the antimacassar that had been crocheted by his mother, back when things were different.

He craved sleep, but he didn’t want to chase Ginny away, for then he would be left alone with the memories of his journey, his troubling thoughts. So instead he listened to Ginny’s voice mumbling the results of her guesswork, letting her words penetrate his throbbing head.

She was copying the third line, when she stopped abruptly and stared at the page before her.

“I think I got it,” she whispered inaudibly.

“You know what it means?” Draco suddenly looked interested.

Ginny drew something on the page and gave it to him. “Have a look.”

Accipe quam primum, brevis est occasion lucri.

Respue, quod non es.

Certum est et inevitabile fatum.

Aut amat aut odit mulier, nil est tertium.

Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te.

Urbs antiqua ruit multos dominate per annos.

Mea!

“It’s an acrostic!” she smiled contentedly. “Acrostic is a series of lines, usually in a form of a poem, in which the first letters in each line form a name or a word. If you read all seven letters in sequence, you’ll get the word arcanum.”

“Arcanum? That’s a nice way to put it,” Draco snorted.

“I don’t quite remember what it means. Care to enlighten me?”

“Arcanum means ‘mystery’. It’s also another word for ‘elixir’,” he explained.

“Why…,” Ginny began to say, but was cut off.

“Hold on a second,” Draco interrupted quickly. “I have an idea.”

He rummaged in a pile of books and quills and grabbed Ginny’s copy of The Complete Magical Encyclopaedia. He turned over the pages feverishly. When he found the right page, he handed the book to her. Overtaken by curiosity, Ginny read the passage.

“…In alchemy, the Grand Arcanum describes the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. The colloquial name for the Philosopher’s Stone is The Great Red Elixir. An elixir was a substance believed to be able to change base metals into gold. It was also believed by some to be able to prolong life, thus making a person immortal. For this reason another name was coined for the Philosopher’s Stone – elixir vitae (elixir of life).”

Ginny’s eyes widened. She looked at the poem in the middle of the page and then back at Draco.

“You don’t really think…”

“I never said anything,” he replied shortly and stared at her for a long time. “But it does seem very probable.”

“This is incredible!” she whispered. “They were right after all! I think we have a key to the formula of the Philosopher’s Stone!”

They grinned at each other.

While Ginny was contemplating what she had just heard, her eyes registered dark shadows under Draco’s eyes that made him look older and yet for some reason very appealing. Rough bristly stubble covered his cheeks and Ginny wondered what it would feel like to the touch.

Then she abruptly pulled herself up sharp. Was she out of her mind, fantasizing about Draco Malfoy’s pulchritude?

‘Our relationship is strictly business-like,’ she told herself. ‘We are coparceners. Merlin, I hate that word. We are bound by a business agreement. Nothing more, nothing less. Nobody said I have to like him, right?’

All the while Draco was thinking about how beautiful Ginny looked with her eyes glowing, all happy and excited about their discovery.

Ginny was the first one to avert her eyes. She turned back to the book and leafed through it.

“Erm, where were we?” she mumbled.

“Arcanum,” he said. “I think he meant the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Oh yeah, isn’t it what people used to believe? That Liber Mysteriorum contained an encrypted message on how to make the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Yes, but I don’t really believe in it. It’s just a rumour.”

“Whatever,” Ginny replied stubbornly. “Let’s be more optimistic, shall we?”

She grabbed Liber Mysteriorum and observed closely the small drawings that followed. One of them was a small drawing of a scarlet rose.

“See?” Ginny exclaimed with an expression of acute satisfaction on her face. “I was right! The red rose is an alchemical symbol that stands for the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Excitedly, she rubbed her hands together. Draco looked over at Ginny and shook his head.

“I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before,” Ginny went on. “These are all symbols that stand for something. It makes sense now!

“It does?” Draco asked, for her deductions totally escaped him.

“Of course. Suppose this riddle is a key to the Philosopher’s Stone. Suppose it’s all true. Then this picture here,” she pointed to the drawing of a dragon, “stands for hydrogen. See, all alchemists used symbols to encode different stages of transmutation of metals. Dragon was used as the symbol for hydrogen, which is used in making the Stone. And this,” this time she pointed to the picture of a cave, “is a symbol of a crucible.”

“And what’s this?” Draco asked about the last picture, which depicted a grey-feathered crane.

Ginny shrugged and then picked a book from the pile that read Ars symbolica by Arnold Dempsey.

“Let’s see,” she murmured as her eyes roved the pages. “Aha! The ancient Egyptians used the crane as a symbol of the astronomer because of high flight. Its astrological name is ‘Grus’.”

“Wasn’t the crane mentioned in one of the poems?” Draco asked thoughtfully. He got hold of the Liber Mysteriorum again to find the poem. Then he read out loud:

Ten cranes guard the door under the stars.

The white and the red rose will travel

To the city of bridges before the sky turns black.

The waxing crescent will end the war.

“So ‘ten cranes’ means ‘ten astronomers’?” Ginny exclaimed in surprise. “And if the red rose stands for the Philosopher’s Stone, does it mean that someone will travel with it to…the city of bridges?”

“And what does the white rose stand for?”

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know. But at least I know now that this is somehow linked to astronomy. Or astrology, if you wish. Back in the Middle Ages people used to think that it was the same thing.”

Draco took stock of her. “You are quite smart, aren’t you?” he asked, sounding greatly surprised, as if he had just discovered that Ginny could fly without a broom.

Flabbergasted, Ginny coloured slightly. She was unaccustomed to his compliments and couldn’t help wondering what made him say so. She also realized that the animosity between them began to disappear and though she still thought he was a cruel bully, she had to admit that the day that they spent in each other’s company wasn’t so bad at all. In any event, she was not prepared to give in to his charms just yet.

“Um, can I use your bathroom?” she asked, for she couldn’t bear his stare any longer.

“Sure,” he said, breaking the gaze. “At the end of the corridor turn left, take another turn to the left and then the fifth door on the right will be the bathroom.”

Ginny quickly ran to the bathroom and once she was inside, she sank on the marble floor and buried her head in her hands. Her cheeks were glowing and a goofy smile played on her lips. She didn’t know what intoxicated her more, the seasoned wine or the mellow timbre of his voice.

They were not becoming friends, were they? No parleys and no hatchets buried, right? He must have spiked her drink, for such a ludicrous thought would never have occurred to her had she been sober.

Or could they perhaps let bygones be bygones, that is, at least for the duration of their research? Would she, could she forgive him? It would after all be sensible and would undoubtedly facilitate their collaboration…But no, it was far too insane a notion to accept, and so she dismissed it with utter resolution. That done, she continued despising Draco Malfoy with every fibre of her being.

Very confident, she exited the bathroom and started walking down the corridor, back to the sitting-room. Just like she imagined, the house had a somewhat lugubrious air to it. Everything looked unused and abandoned and she doubted if any human being had set foot in this part of the mansion in the last few years.

Suddenly, the corridor divided and she wasn’t sure which way she should go, as she hardly paid attention to the surroundings on her way to the bathroom. She decided to go left, down a narrow corridor. She took a turn and nearly tripped on the leg of a massive chest-of-drawers that was occupying the dark corner. She examined it slowly and discovered quite a collection of gauds on its dusty surface.

She took one of them to see what it was. It looked like a usual trinket box with a silver decoration on a mother-of-pearl background. She lifted the lid and a slow, mournful music, resembling a funeral hymn issued from within its depths. Suddenly, the dirge was over and the box emitted a shrill, bray-like cry. Frightened, Ginny snapped the lid shut. She quickly put it back and walked away.

Mortified, she now also realized that the walls of the corridors were lined with gravures of ugly and dangerous-looking beasts, mostly indricotheres, mammoths and dire wolves. As she walked on, her eyes fell upon a painting in a massive gilded frame. It depicted an ashet with a severed human head on it. A few gobbets were cut off on the left side, mutilating the face beyond recognition.

Ginny felt nausea wash over her and she hurried forward. The next thing she encountered was a silver platter with elaborate decoration of a bird of prey picking at a rabbit. The acids in her stomach were already making their way up and, fearing a sight of another gory artifact, she swiftly took a turn, down another corridor.

As she was passing, a door on her right suddenly opened a creak. Ginny stopped and looked at it curiously. Then she pushed it slightly. Squeaking, the door gave in and she found herself in a small room with a low ceiling. The room was dark and she lit her wand. When she saw the inside of the room, she gasped and nearly dropped her wand.

She stumbled upon Narcissa Malfoy’s parlour. Gabardine portieres were drawn, permitting no light inside. There was a thin layer of dust on the cherry wood furniture, and Ginny realized that this room had not been used or visited since its owner had left it for good.

The curiosity was almost overwhelming, as she studied the knick-knacks in the room - an elegant assortment of opals, ivory and silver. She ran her fingers over small obsidian and porcelain figurines on the griseous mantelpiece, over tassels and bolsters, scattered all over the sofa that was upholstered with burgundy crushed velvet. She picked out a tune on the piano, just to hear what it sounded like.

On the desk, Narcissa’s handicraft basket was still unpacked, with a hodgepodge of thimbles and bodkins laid out, as if she took a break for a moment and was going to come back. She wondered if Draco came here often, lay on this settee and maybe talked quietly to his mother’s things. Imagining that she was there. She was suddenly overcome with pity for him, and that surprised her. That wasn’t something she did out of her own volition. For the life of her, she could never imagine how he could still live in this mansion that was about as cozy as a burial vault, and where everything was painfully remindful of his deceased parents. One can, of course, seal off the rooms, but one can’t shut off the memories. But now she understood. He welcomed these memories. They were all he had left, just like this house.

She gave the room another glance and then walked out, closing the door behind her and leaving her sympathy and pity for Malfoy behind that door. No truce or armistice, remember?

She found her way back to the sitting room, where Draco sat on the sofa, bent over a book. She ignored a mighty tug in her chest, where her heart was, as if it were simply a skipped systole, and settled on the sofa beside him.

“Found anything interesting?” she asked, pulling the book towards her.

“Actually, I did,” he said without looking up. “Have a look at this.”

Ginny bent over the page that he was showing her and saw the picture of the same bearded wizard in the star-spangled robes right in the middle. He was holding an open book in his hands with a strange inscription on it: seititne lacigam.

“You know I don’t speak Latin,” Ginny said, irritated.

“It’s not Latin. It’s English,” Draco retorted.

Ginny looked at him as if he was addle-brained.

“Then it’s the kind of English that I don’t understand.”

“Because you need this,” he explained and produced a small mirror from his pocket.

Ginny frowned, but took it from him. Intuitively, she brought it close to the page and looked at the reflection. Now the words read in perfect English: Magical Entities. Ginny’s eyes grew wider.

“Magical entities? But what does it mean?”

“I looked it up in one of the encyclopedias and I found this:

On the Magical Entities is one of the most enigmatic tractates on a variety of magical beasts in the wizarding world, as well as some forms of half-animal life such as werewolves. It was written in 1199 by Fra Filippo, shortly before his death. His main goal was to bring awareness about these things that his contemporaries had little knowledge about.

Though this tractate is written in common English, being the first document of this kind not to be written in Latin and moreover not encoded, many believed for some reason that this tractate contained some ‘keys’ to understanding the higher forms of magic, often forbidden. It was therefore often called The Key or The Keys by those who attempted to find something in the text that would lead them beyond the original meaning. On the Magical Entities is now known by the name of the Zenatti manuscript, after the person who had been known to own it last, Anselmo Zenatti. It is therefore sometimes referred to as Le chiavi, the Italian equivalent of The Keys. It is believed to have been lost in the fire that destroyed the Mancini Library in 1523.

“Hang on. You mean he hid a clue inside his other work?” Ginny asked at last.

“Yes, I think that this is a very explicit allusion to the tractate. To solve this, we need Fra Filippo’s tractate,” Draco said, as his mouth curled in a half-smile. An idea occurred to him. He had an old acquaintance that might just be of service.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a thundering sound, coming from the other wing of the mansion, as if someone dropped a four-poster bed with a baldachin down the stairwell.

There was a grimace of immense displeasure on Draco’s face, as he squinted in the direction of the possible source of the sound. Ginny guessed that whoever was creating havoc would get it hot.

“Well,” she said quickly. “It’s rather late and I’m tired. Why don’t we continue in the weekend?”

Draco nodded wearily and insisted on walking with her to the entrance hall. Down the dark corridors they went, and Ginny thought to herself that she couldn’t have possibly spent a more enjoyable day.

Abruptly she stopped and looked around. Draco was right behind her. He stood much closer to her than she had anticipated, and she took a few steps back.

“I’ll be off then,” she said curtly, and with a swirl she Disapparated.

Disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies.

The poems are not mine either, they belong to William Shakespeare and Lord Byron.

A/N: Finally, the next chapter for those who were dying to read it! Again, here I make allusions to many important medieval works on alchemy, mostly the Ripley Scroll, as well as medieval bestiaries and sources on folklore. I also shifted the events known as Bonfire of the Vanities some 26 years. What happened then was actually very fascinating. I suggest you go to your local library and read about it.

Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed!!! Those who have read this, but still haven’t reviewed, will be severely punished! I’m not kidding! LOL

CHAPTER FOUR

Gambit

The door suddenly opened and the elf ushered in a young woman. Draco relished the sight of her. She dressed and acted like a Muggle, but he didn’t mind that. It suited her. (He knew that many would call him a hypocrite if he ever voiced his views).

Her curly auburn hair was held up in a neat bun, and her pale aristocratic features were slightly touched by make-up. A small black designer dress clang to every curve of her lean body, not revealing much, but at the same time baring enough of her creamy flesh. She approached him with feline grace, the four-inch stiletto heals of her shoes sinking in the thick carpeting.

Her cinnamon eyes were fixed on him too, as she walked towards the table, taking in every inch of his body. He was leaning back in his chair, his posture relaxed. The sleeves of his crispy white shirt were rolled up, revealing his toned sinewy arms. The top button of his shirt was also undone, and it gave him an air of nonchalant scruffiness.

“Catherine,” he smiled, rising from his chair, “you look ravishing!”

“Thank you, Draco,” she said, returning the smile. “You don’t look bad yourself.”

“Please, sit down,” he gestured towards the opposite seat.

She sat down gracefully.

“Wine?” he asked, uncorking the bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

“Yes, please,” she smiled appreciatively.

She leaned forward to take her glass, shrouding him with the refined scent of her Thierry Mugler perfume.

His eyes followed the movement of her slim manicured fingers as she clicked the lighter and lit her first cigarette. She inhaled slowly, and then looked at him with a hint of languor in her dark lambent eyes. Oh, he knew that look too well!

“Why did you ask me to come?” she inquired, looking at him intently.

For a moment he watched her brush the tip of her cigarette against the rim of the ash-tray.

“I need your help,” he said, looking back at her.

A light smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “You’re straight-forward, I like that.”

“I want to make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?” she smiled at him over the rim of her wineglass.

“I want you to get me a very important manuscript,” he replied.

“It must be a very extraordinary manuscript, if you’re asking me to get it for you.”

“You have the best antique shop in London,” he shrugged with a smile.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Malfoy,” she smirked. “What kind of manuscript are we talking about?”

“The Zenatti Manuscript.”

She froze, the wine glass in her hand stopping half way to her mouth. “The only copy that still exists is in a private collection. And I doubt that the owner would want to part with such treasure.”

“Tell him that I can be very generous.”

“How much?” she asked.

“Fifty thousand Galleons,” he replied.

She raised her thin brow in surprise. If he was prepared to pay this much money, then the deal was worth a try. But it was going to be difficult. She thought for a while, tapping a long, polished fingernail on the clothed table.

“I’ll have the answer for you by tomorrow,” she said at last.

“Thank you.”

“I am always happy to help an old friend. Besides, I’m just returning a favour. You know, I hate to be indebted.”

“Of course,” Draco’s lips curled in a smile.

“But what do you need it for, if you don’t mind me asking?” she asked curiously.

“It’s a good investment,” he replied laconically.

She understood that he didn’t want to talk about it, so she changed the subject. They sat through three courses of a delicious meal, talking and laughing, until it was long past midnight.

“It was nice seeing you again, Draco,” Catherine said before disappearing behind the door.

“It was nice seeing you too,” he replied.

He poured himself some more wine and watched the specks of the flickering candle-light glisten on the glass. He was smiling contentedly. The evening turned out to be even more successful than he had expected.

***

The note came on a piece of scented vellum paper, with the name Catherine Bergdorf stamped on top.

Dear Draco,

I’m pleased to inform you that the deal will proceed as planned. Mr. Leonard Trondle, the owner of the Zenatti Manuscript, has seriously considered your generous offer and is willing to sell it. I will owl you as soon as we work out the details. As of today your money pouch will feel a lot lighter!

I’ll keep in touch,

Catherine

Draco grinned at his own reflection in the mirror as he was tying his necktie. It was the best deal he had ever had. Now that he had the manuscript, he could solve the mystery of the book and get it done and over with. For good.

Of course, fifty thousand Galleons was quite a fortune. Just to think that Nicolas Flammel purchased The Red Grimoire of Orpheus for just two florins! But what could he do with all that money? His parents were dead and he didn’t have a family of his own. His father left him a few vaults full of gold and he would have spent it anyway. He had enough to last a lifetime. Only he had lost the spendthrift desire long ago. That is, until now.

***

The room was tiny and an average Muggle would undoubtedly wonder how it could possibly fit a single bed, a dresser, a rocking chair and a desk and a chair by the window. Not to mention a built-in massive fireplace. But Muggles are widely known for their naiveté and it would certainly never occur to them to check the room for any signs of magic. To an average wizard, however, it would be obvious that the room was shrouded by a tightly woven net of various spells that kept it all together.

It was still dark outside and no sunlight filtered through a gap in the floral-patterned curtains. The girl in the bed heaved a deep sigh and drew the blanket tighter around her. A light smile played on her lips and her eye-lids trembled slightly – a sure sign of a pleasant dream.

Two bulky figures were hunched on either side of the bed, watching vigilantly over the sleeping figure. One of them bent down over the girl and listened to her even breathing.

“You do that again, and she will wake up!” hissed the voice from the other side of the bed.

“She won’t,” replied the first and retreated, “she sleeps like a log. I just wanted to make sure.”

The other figure shook his head disapprovingly.

“All right. Let’s be quick. You’ve got everything with you, haven’t you?”

The other nodded and took a small box out of his pocket. He grinned wickedly as he removed the elastic band that was holding the lid in place. When it was open, he rapped the contents of the box with his wand and whispered a quick incantation. A shimmering pink smoke rose from the box and then spiraled down, towards the sleeping girl.

The pink cloud almost covered her face, when she, sensing something, jerked awake and pushed the dark figure, and the pink cloud, away from her. Her arms and legs got entangled in the blanket and she pummeled it violently, until she managed to throw it off her bed. In a blink of an eye she grabbed her wand from under the pillow and pointed it towards the dark mass on the floor.

“Who is here?” asked Ginny, for it was her, in a trembling voice, trying to keep her wand steady.

“I told you it was a bad idea,” came a growl.

“Fred?!!” Ginny whispered in shock. “What are you doing in my room? What time is it?”

She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was showing a little over six in the morning.

The mass on the floor moved and in the light of her wand Ginny saw a tuft of familiar red hair. Fred’s ginger head came into view as he managed to extricate himself from under the blanket. He gave the rest of the dark mass on the floor a not so friendly push and said gloomily: “Come out. She got us.”

The blanket moved again and out came an identical ginger head.

“George?!” Ginny exclaimed.

“Hey, Gin,” he grinned. “Nice pyjamas.”

Ginny looked furious and confused. “What are you two doing here?”

“Oh, right,” said George, avoiding her angry glare, “well, you see, eh…we were just…eh, you know…”

“No, I don’t know! What’s going on?”

George was going to resume his awkward explanations, when Fred suddenly stared at him and then started guffawing, having to bury his face in the discarded blanket, so as not to wake anyone in the house.

“What’s wrong?” George asked, concerned.

“Look at your face!” Fred replied and then burst out laughing again.

George raced towards the mirror on Ginny’s dresser and stared in horror at his own reflection. His freckled nose was covered in thick pink pollen and it dawned on him that he was breathing it in as well.

“We haven’t got an antidote,” Fred informed him, still grinning.

“Can someone explain me what’s going on?” Ginny started to get impatient.

“The thing is, little sis, that we have developed a new product for our joke shop. We are planning to launch it right before the Valentine’s Day. The perfect moment, wouldn’t you say, George? We just haven’t tested it yet.”

“Hold on,” Ginny clenched her fists. “You mean, you came to my room at six o’clock in the morning to test a dubious product on me while I was sleeping?!”

“In a nutshell, yes,” murmured George, who was still observing his nose in the mirror.

“And what does it do? Makes you grow a tail? Changes the colour of your skin?”

“Erm, well, if it works right, then it only makes you recite poetry for a day,” Fred explained.

“What? You wanted to make me recite poetry? Somehow it doesn’t seem as innocent as it sounds.”

She crawled out of bed and walked over to George. She stood next to him and together they studied his pink nose.

“I’m glad I hurled the spell back at you,” she said with a smile. “I have to get to the Ministry this afternoon and I don’t fancy being sacked over some ridiculous Valentine’s joke.”

George scowled at her, but didn’t say anything.

“What kind of poems does it do?” Ginny asked curiously.

“I don’t know. It’s never been tested before,” George said, turning away from the mirror.

“Let’s go and look it up in our books, George. Maybe we’ll find something,” Fred suggested, taking pity on his twin.

“Good idea,” Ginny chimed in. “As for me, I’m going to bed. It’s still too early.”

“Yeah,” said George nonchalantly, “maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll have that dream again.”

“What dream?” Ginny looked at him puzzled.

“Must have been a good dream. You were smiling and whispering somebody’s name.”

Ginny looked mortified. “Whose name?” she asked slowly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Fred, as he picked up the blanket and put it back on her bed. “Didn’t quite catch it. Some foreign name, I reckon.”

With that both twins tiptoed out of her room, leaving Ginny perplexed and embarrassed. She had strong suspicions about the ‘foreign’ name, but was afraid to admit it to herself.

She went back to bed and lay there thinking. She remembered the day she had spent at Malfoy Manor. How excited she was at the progress they had made with the book! And what’s more important, they hadn’t even exchanged a single cross word. What was happening? Was she growing soft on him? She pondered this, trying to be as honest with herself as possible. She conjured Draco’s image in her mind. His voice invaded her reverie. That coarse laugh. That determined profile…

“No!” she grunted, kneading the blanket in agitation. She got carried away again. No more dreaming about Draco sodding Malfoy!

Time and time again, she tried to remember all his shortcomings that would sober her up a little. That stupid laugh of his wasn’t sexy at all, it was a hyena’s laugh! As to the profile, his features were too pointed! And that disgusting unshaved chin! Come to think of it, his grey eyes were cruel and cold too! And he was too…too blond, Ginny decided lamely. And that petty creature still treated her with his customary hauteur. Like he was somehow better than her! Argh!

As a result of all these reflections, Ginny could not sleep a wink. At long last, she gave up and at half past eight she went down for breakfast.

Saturdays in the Burrow usually started late. Everyone, the family and the guests, often stayed in bed until midday, weary after the long supper and the games the night before. Some even stayed up to chat deep into the night. That happened, for instance, every time Hermione and Harry came over. Ginny longed for some female company and the two of them would chat for hours on end, giggling, whispering and sharing their girlie secrets.

This time Harry and Hermione, whom no one naturally treated as guests, joined them at the Burrow for the Friday supper. As an exception to the rule, the girls went to bed soon after the meal. Harry and Hermione were obviously looking forward to being alone at last in their bedroom. And Ginny was secretly grateful for that, because she couldn’t bear Hermione asking her about her ‘collaboration’ with Draco Malfoy. She was sure that Hermione would inevitably find something out and would either get very angry with her or would laugh at her. She didn’t know which was worth.

In the kitchen she saw all her brothers, except Charlie, sitting at the table. Her father was reading the Prophet, from time to time announcing interesting bits of gossip. Her mother and Hermione were busy fixing breakfast.

“Good morning everyone,” Ginny yawned. “Where is Charlie?”

“One of his dragons, Betsy, is sick. He had to come over,” Ron replied between the helpings of eggs and bacon.

“By the way, Ginny, what was that noise in your room this morning?” Mrs. Weasley asked as she levitated the saucepan with her wand.

Ginny and the twins exchanged brief glances.

“My room? I don’t know what you’re talking about, mum. Maybe it was that ghoul in the attic again,” Ginny replied carelessly.

“Right. We should do something about it. It’s getting out of hand!” Mrs. Weasley huffed angrily.

The three of the young Weasleys sniggered.

“How’s Malfoy doing?” Harry asked Ginny jokingly, as she flopped in the chair next to him.

“He’s a hideous, loathsome bastard,” Ginny replied automatically.

Everyone nodded pityingly and Ginny smiled inwardly. How easy it was to fool them! For a second, it seemed that she could convince herself too.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a cough. She looked up and saw George’s eyes flash strangely. His face, like a face of a love-sick person, looked dreamy and altogether altered. He suddenly turned to Hermione and recited in a clear voice:

Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

“Oh, George!” Hermione blushed and dropped her eyes.

Everyone, including Harry, goggled at George. Even Mr. Weasley’s puzzled face appeared above the newspaper. Mrs. Weasley was moved to tears: “He’s become so romantic, since he started dating Angelina!”

Ginny and Fred were choking on their porridge, being the only ones who really knew what was happening to their brother, and George turned puce. It was as if he was fighting something inside him that was desperately trying to get out. At last, his breathing normalized, his face transformed back to his own and he was the same old George again. Ron and Harry (who still eyed George suspiciously, in case he decided to ask his girlfriend out as well) broke the awkward silence by proposing a game of Quidditch.

Ginny had to decline the offer. She ate her breakfast as fast as she could in order to get to the Ministry on time. When she was nearly out of the door, she heard George sing:

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies,

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meets in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

Outside, it started to rain. Puddles formed on the roads, in which the gravid clouds and buildings reflected like in a mirror. Ginny sighed and closed one of the files she had brought from the Ministry. She had a lot to do, masses of documents to look through. But the grey dullness outside had a soporific effect on her, inducing somnolence and general laziness. In her mind, Ginny debated an option of spending the rest of the day in bed, with a good book, preferably of a non-scientific kind. Still unable to decide, she watched the dense stubs of pollards in the garden through the curtain of drizzling London rain.

But it looked like someone decided for her already. She heard a rattling sound in her chimney and out of the fireplace, amidst the dancing green flames, appeared Draco Malfoy. Ginny stared at him disbelievingly as he stepped out of her fireplace. He dusted imaginary soot off his robes and smirked at Ginny.

“I thought such a capable witch like you would think of putting a barrier on her fireplace.”

“What are you doing here?!” Ginny cried.

“I want to show you something. This can’t wait,” he said hastily.

He reached inside his robes and took something out. She glanced curiously at the object in his hands. It was a round silver filigree case with a screw top. The surface of the case with finely engraved finial pattern was polished, giving off an argent glow. A small silver ring was attached to the top, presumably to hang from a chatelaine. The other end of the cylinder bore an intricate family crest to be used as a seal.

Draco unscrewed the top and emptied the contents of the case into Ginny’s lap. What appeared to be a shapeless dirty rag, turned out to be a scroll of ancient parchment.

“What is this?” she looked at it in awe.

“The Zenatti Manuscript,” Draco grinned.

“But I thought it got burned in 1523?” Ginny goggled at him.

“Luckily for us someone made a copy. And now I own it.”

“You bought it?!”

“Yes,” he nodded. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I didn’t know you were so dedicated to this project,” Ginny replied slowly, looking at him with sudden interest.

“There is a lot you don’t know about me,” Draco said mysteriously.

Ginny raised her brows. She reckoned she could write a Liber Mysteriorum based on his life, with plenty of mysteries and riddles in it.

“I don’t suppose you drink tea at this time of the day?” Ginny asked in her best hostess voice.

“I don’t suppose you have any decent tea in the house?” he asked in the same tone.

Ginny gritted her teeth. “The best from Ceylon. I’ll fetch you a cup. You just sit back and relax, feel at home,” she barked.

She went to the kitchen, glancing back to see what he was doing. Draco took off his heavy coat and sat down on her couch, looking around himself with a tinge of scorn.

“Sorry, I don’t keep any mummified relatives in my closet,” Ginny said angrily, before storming off into the kitchen.

Draco snorted.

Meanwhile, Ginny was pacing her tiny kitchen, on her way fetching cups and saucers. What she wouldn’t give right now for a pinch of arsenic! She pictured Malfoy choking and gasping for breath and she would be just watching him maliciously. Sorry, Draco dearest, just today I ran out of bezoars. Bad luck, huh?

She poured some hot water from the sibilant kettle into her finest porcelain cups. She put them, together with the sugar-basin and the milk-jug, on a tray and slowly entered the living room.

Draco Malfoy marked his presence in the room by lounging on her couch, his blond head buried in the handbooks on alchemy. The whole picture looked so ridiculously odd, that Ginny nearly dropped the tray. She carefully put it down on the small table before them and took place next to him, never crossing the invisible line of demarcation between them.

“Well,” Ginny said, feeling very awkward because of his sprawling body next to her, and feeling even more stupid because of feeling awkward in her own home.

“I’ve been doing some reading lately and I found this,” Draco said.

Ginny looked over his shoulder and read the following:

On 7 February 1523 followers of the priest Girolamo Savonarola collected and publicly burned thousands of objects in Florence, Italy. This event is historically referred to as Bonfire of the Vanities. This was done with one purpose: to destroy sinful objects and vanity items, such as mirrors, cosmetics, fine dresses and musical instruments. Among these objects were also certain books and manuscripts, considered wicked and immoral. Even some original paintings by Sandro Botticelli suffered the same fate.

As people failed to contain the fire, it spread to the nearest building which happened to be the Mancini Library. As a result, many valuable books and scrolls were lost forever.

“I just don’t get one thing,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “If Zenatti owned the manuscript, why was it kept in the Mancini Library?”

“It was displayed there for everyone to see. Anyone who wasn’t ignorant knew what an amazing work it was. So, naturally, everyone wanted to see it.”

Ginny nodded.

“Even these days many people realize how valuable it is. The funny thing is that most people associate it with Zenatti and not with the author, Fra Filippo. Did you know that Anselmo Zenatti’s portrait is hanging in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”

“No, I didn’t,” she shook her head.

She unrolled the manuscript which, against her expectations, was unusually short for a tractate. About a meter-long roll of brownish paper was covered with writing in bright-red ink. It was topped with an emblem depicting an Alphyn. The animal, which generally looked very much like a tiger, had a sturdy hirsute body, thick mane, elongated donkey-like ears and a long tongue. The tail was curled in a fanciful shape. The front paws were the ones of an eagle, with blade-sharp talons.

She scanned the text in a matter of seconds. Like the books she used to read for Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures this one described the wizarding animal world that abounded in a variety of species, many of which, back in the 12^th century, were still relatively unknown. Fra Filippo’s essay

was divided in half, dedicated to both tamed and feral animals. Ginny was surprised to find out that even hundreds of years ago owls and kneazles made very good pets. A little portion of the text in the end was solely dedicated to werewolves and their habits. On the whole, everything in it looked very normal to her. No gnomic riddles this time. No long passages in Latin.

A few excerpts from the text made her very curious.

Wyvern – this rare variety of a dragon-like monster has, unlike dragons, only the front paws, its hind part of the body forms a barbed tail. The brazen scales on the body have often been used in making harnesses.

Griffon – a creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. It has been believed to be very valuable since it is able to find hidden gold. Be sure to take one of these with you when you’re going to hunt for leprechaun gold.

This animal likes basking in the sun and one can usually find it on the sunny pastures, chewing on corn-flowers – its favourite food. My fellow magizoologists and I differentiate between females (those who have large webbed wings) and males (those who don’t have any). Females lay eggs and are very watchful of their offspring. The males, on the other hand, are not very devoted partners and fathers and often leave the females after copulation takes place.

Simplicissimus – a cross-breed between a dragon and a Scottish Firebird. Has two legs of an eagle and a split barbed tail. Bright plumage serves to attract the potential partners during the mating season. Throughout the history successful attempts have been made to tame them and use as a means of transportation. Several simplicissimi have been used in battle, but have all been slain, together with the wizards riding them.

Ginny suddenly got a sniff of Draco’s eau-de-Cologne. They were now sitting side by side, both absorbed in the manuscript. As if on purpose, today Draco looked extra sexy and desirable. He had a new haircut that really suited him and his white shirt fit his torso so well that Ginny thought that wearing one should be made illegal. Her head swam. Against her will, her mind was spelling the word ‘concupiscence’ in huge fiery letters.

She took great pains to ignore him as best as she could, but she was failing miserably. Now, whenever she was in his presence, she felt like her wrists and ankles were fettered and she couldn’t move. His gaze paralyzed her and conquered her will. She gulped nervously and averted her eyes.

Draco caught that slight movement of her head and looked at her. He was so close to Ginny that she could feel his breath on her cheek. He slowly leaned in to kiss her. Ginny, in her transfixed state, neither backed away nor moved forward. Their lips were just inches apart when Ginny regained her senses and jerked away from him.

“If you are looking for a quick shag, you chose the wrong person,” she said angrily.

“If you don’t want it, fine. I won’t beg. Malfoys never beg,” he shrugged and moved away. His arm was still resting on the back of the sofa, so dangerously close to her.

“Right, it’s me who’s supposed to be begging!” Ginny got to her feet impatiently, indicating the end of his visit. He got the hint and, smirking, got up too.

“I suggest we call it a day. We’ll continue tomorrow,” he said, as he pocketed the manuscript.

She shrugged indefinitely and turned away from him. She didn’t care about being civil to him anymore.

“Good night then,” he said and Disapparated.

In the darkness of his bedroom Draco lay with his eyes open and watched the shadows move across the ceiling. He was reflecting upon the strange circumstances in which he and Ginny found themselves due to the work on The Book. First, he was perplexed and resentful about the whole thing, but now he started to like it. And, he figured, being paired up with that fiery read-head Ginny Weasley was not such a bad idea. Surprisingly, he totally lost his head over this girl. He thought incessantly about her long, soft hair that reminded him of polished copper Knuts; about her tender face with burning hazel eyes and her shapely legs, and whatever else she was hiding under those robes.

He was actually very much attracted to her. So she was a Muggle-lover. Big deal! He used to bed stupid Hufflepuffs without kith or kin, this wasn’t any different. It was just sex after all. So, he wasn’t breaking any rules. And if he was, he didn’t care. He wanted her and he was going to get her.

Meanwhile, Ginny was glumly devouring the contents of her fridge. She chided herself for being do silly and naïve. How could she give in to the charms of that lofty bastard! She even served him tea in her snug little home! She should have kicked him out the moment he stepped out of her fireplace! First thing tomorrow she would buy some arsenic and board up the flue!

Ginny clenched her fists, feeling very helpless. She felt tears burning her eyes.

He’s had more than his fair share of girls at Hogwarts! His wild escapades were elaborately described in nearly every issue of Witch Weekly! Why would he want to add her to his vast collection as well? Was she just another trophy for him? What gave him the right to think that her heart was a go-as-you-please area?! And she thought that he was changing for the best. Not he, she thought bitterly. Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy.

She finally dissolved into tears. She was crying because she was angry with him for treating her like that, and at the same time she realized that she longed for him to touch her, kiss her, which enraged her even more. Why did he have such an enchanting effect on her?

A few minutes later, she wiped away her tears and made up her mind to ignore him the next day, and the day after that until he would beg for forgiveness. With that thought firmly established in her mind, she allowed slumber to take over her.

Disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies.

A/N: A big thank you to everyone who reviewed. I wouldn’t have the courage to continue, if it wasn’t for you!

CHAPTER FIVE

Through the looking-glass

Working at the Department of International Magical Cooperation was, as Ginny Weasley always thought, an ideal job. The only part of it that caused her a fair amount of discomfort was that her alienated, pain-in-the-arse brother Percy worked in the same department, albeit in a different office. He was demoted from his position of Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic after a minor conflict between him and Rufus Scrimgeour, another subject that was carefully avoided at the dinner table on Friday evenings and which caused her mother a lot of grief nonetheless. Whenever Penelope Clearwater was on the horizon Ginny skillfully dodged her as there was an even higher risk of running into Percy. But luckily for Ginny the International Magical Trading Standards Body where she worked was closer to the lifts and she could make a quick escape whenever she wanted.

That day, when she came to work she found it very hard to concentrate. She was drinking copious amounts of coffee, brooding over the events of last night. Whenever her co-workers stuck their heads inside her office, Ginny looked at them unseeingly, greeted them vaguely and went back to her unhappy reflections.

She couldn’t sleep last night. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw herself in a medieval castle, looking out of the window onto a battlefield, where Draco was riding a fire-breathing dragon. Then he would turn to her and shout: “Make me a cup of tea! Three spoons of arsenic, no milk!” And the whole army under his command, including the dragons, would burst in a Homeric laughter.

After tossing and turning in between the nightmares, she felt tired and angry. She was considering going back home, completely ignoring a furious goblin before her who was screaming something about extra thick cauldrons that he had ordered but never received.

Spit flying everywhere, he kept nagging her, until she finally focused her attention on him and promised to fix his problem, whatever it was. The goblin shot her an angry look and marched out of her office.

Ginny followed him with her eyes, forgetting all about his cauldrons the moment he left. The clock struck twelve and she decided to go ask Harry to the lunch. But first of all, she opened her door and checked the corridor for any signs of Percy or his fiancée. When she was sure that the coast was clear, she made a beeline to the lift and, climbing inside, made her way up.

On the next floor, where the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was located, the doors opened, but no one came in, save for the violet inter-department memos.

Ginny peeked out. She rarely visited other levels, especially those where she had no business to be. Curiously, she stepped out and looked around. Immediately she was greeted by a whirl of colours. Three bright-red arrows - Beast Division, Being Division and Spirit Division - pointed in different directions. A beautifully drawn poster advertising new editions of The Monster Book of Monstersand Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology occupied the wall opposite the lifts. Another poster announced a sale of old, second-hand copies of Encyclopaedia of Owls, organized together with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to be scheduled for the 5^th of December. Across one of the adverts

someone wrote in purple ink: SAY NO TO THE IMPORT OF THE NEW

BREED OF THESTRALS! The lost pets section of the notice board had only one item: ‘Have you seen this dragon?’ with a picture of a highly dangerous Ukrainian Ironbelly baby dragon underneath.

Portraits of famous magizoologists like Newt Scamander, Oswald Bigfoot and Cornelia Dragonheart lined the walls of the corridor. Some of their occupants peeked curiously out of the heavy gilded frames. The others were happily snoozing away.

“Ginny?” a surprised voice exclaimed behind her.

She turned and saw a former classmate, Colin Creevey, step out of the lift, with his arms laden with photo equipment.

“I’m surprised to see you here. How are you?” he beamed.

“Oh, I’m fine. I was just on my way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to see my dad and Harry. I…erm…I saw this amazing poster and decided to stop by,” she smiled back at him.

“We’ve got a lot of nice things here,” he nodded enthusiastically. “Especially the portraits. I haven’t seen so many since Hogwarts. Have you seen Scamander?” he asked, pointing to the author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

Ginny nodded. “And how are you?” she asked him in turn.

“All right, I guess. Nothing much happens here. Pretty boring, really. Unlicensed kneazles, sightings of a lethifold in Birmingham which I rather doubt, a missing dragon,” he pointed to the writing on the wall. “I’m thinking of going to Wales for a while, gather some material on the local grindylows. You know,” he continued, “Luna Lovegood supplied our Beast Division with really nice pictures of merpeople. Wonder how she got them to pose for a photograph.”

“Luna’s very resourceful,” Ginny laughed.

“Yeah, I still have a picture of her wearing that stupid hat!” he snorted.

“You know,” Ginny asked carefully, trying not to sound too interested, “I’ve heard you have a portrait of Anselmo Zenatti somewhere here.”

“It’s funny you should say that,” Colin exclaimed. “Draco Malfoy came here recently to have a look at it as well.”

“What a coincidence,” Ginny muttered.

Colin led her further down the corridor, until they stopped before a very inconspicuous portrait, depicting a man of high stature. His clothes conveyed his wealth in all its radiance. The hem of his burgundy chemise was orfrayed in gold. Rubies and diamonds on his velvet vest coruscated in the sunlight. His mantle, too, was richly adorned with gems and trimmed with sable fur. His statuary features made him look somewhat cold and unappealing, Ginny decided.

Under the frame she read:

Anselmo Zenatti

(1470-1557)

“Why did you want to see it?” Colin asked.

Ginny didn’t want to set tongues wagging and she didn’t want to be associated with Draco Malfoy in any way, be that romance or pure business. Besides, they haven’t made any earthshattering discoveries and their concerted actions and efforts haven’t really paid off yet. So, there was nothing to report.

“I just heard from someone that he owned a very valuable manuscript,” she replied.

“Oh, okay,” Colin said.

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” Ginny said hastily. “Good luck with the grindylows.”

“Thanks, Ginny!”

Ginny got in the lift again, this time really intending to reach the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Say hi to your dad and Harry!” Colin shouted after her, when the doors almost closed.

In the lift Ginny had to endure a few awkward minutes, having to stand next to a crying girl who not only failed her Apparition test, but also lost her eye-lashes in the process.

When she finally arrived at Harry’s office, she knocked twice, but there came no reply. She reckoned that he was so absorbed in his work, that he didn’t hear her knock. Carefully, she opened the door and entered his office. Rather unexpectedly, she was treated to a sight of Harry and Hermione engaged in a serious snogging/groping session.

Ginny coughed uncertainly. The two lovers broke apart and stared at Ginny in embarrassment.

“Hmm, hi Ginny,” Hermione said, disentangling herself from Harry. She readjusted her robes and sat down in another chair. “What brings you here?”

“I…eh…sorry for interrupting. I was just thinking of inviting Harry to have lunch with me, but I guess he’s…um…busy, so I’ll just disappear. Please, ignore me.”

“Oh, come on, Gin. Stay. We can order something to eat here,” Harry said, offering her a chair.

He rather regretted having Hermione sitting in the chair next to him, and not on his lap. But he was grateful that it was Ginny who caught them making out, rather than some Auror.

“So, what are you up to these days?” Harry asked, as he conjured three cups of tea and a dish of cucumber sandwiches.

“Work,” Ginny mumbled.

“Oh, fun!” Harry exclaimed jokingly. “By the way, have you heard the last news? About your partner in crime.”

“What partner in crime?” Ginny looked surprised.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, shaking his head in amazement, “nearly got himself exploded in an old house somewhere on the Scilly Islands. Someone got him out of the rubble and got him transported to St. Mungo’s.”

Ginny gasped, looking terrified. Her hatred towards Draco was long forgotten. Instead of feeling gleeful at his misfortune, she was worried about him. And no matter how silly it seemed, she felt slightly guilty. Was it her fault? Was it because she refused to sleep with him last night? And then sudden realization dawned on her.

“Did you say Scilly Islands?” she asked.

“Eh, yes,” Harry stared at her, clearly surprised at her reaction to the news. “St. Martin, I think. Why? What’s wrong?”

She remembered the day when she Apparated to Malfoy Manor and waited for him all morning. When he returned, he looked very peaked and mentioned something about traveling to the Isles of Scilly. He said he was seeing to some urgent business there. She never asked him what he was doing there.

“I have to go,” she announced to the startled couple. “See you later.” And she left.

Ginny was determined to find out what had happened, but more importantly she wanted to see Draco, to make sure that he was okay. Her heart bled when she pictured him maimed and burned. She Apparated to the reception area of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and went straight to the desk marked Enquiries.

“Could you please tell me where I can find Draco Malfoy? Apparently, he had been brought here recently.”

The welcome-witch looked at her notes and said: “Fourth floor, Spell Damage, ward twenty-nine. Please take the stairs on the left.”

Ginny thanked her and went up to the fourth floor. She entered the SPELL DAMAGE corridor and started looking for Draco’s ward. Crystal bubbles full of candles floated up on the ceiling and seemed to move along with her. A continuous drone came from the portraits on the walls. The last time Ginny was at St. Mungo’s was when her father got bitten by Nagini and nearly died. Since then she associated the hospital with unhappy events.

At the door of his ward she stopped, hesitating. What would she say to him? He probably didn’t expect her to show up. Then she cast all her doubts aside and entered the sun-lit room.

He was obviously wealthy enough to afford a separate ward. Everything in it was clinically white and neat. She saw Draco sitting up in his bed, reading a newspaper. He looked bruised and battered, but other than that he was very much alive. When he saw Ginny come in, he stared at her unblinking.

“I’ve just heard that you had an accident and I thought I’d drop by,” she said as she came closer. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Never thought I’d see you here.”

Ginny looked at him to see if he was joking, but he looked very serious. She sat down on the only chair in the room, feeling very awkward. Draco folded the newspaper and leaned back against the pillows.

“Can I ask you something,” she asked at last.

“Anything,” he replied with a grin.

“What were you doing on St. Martin?”

“Aren’t you clever?” Draco snorted. “By the way, it wasn’t St. Martin, it was St. Agnes.”

“You’ve been there before, the day I came to your house,” Ginny reminded him.

Draco nodded. “I have a house there.”

“A house?”

“It belonged to my father. He inherited it from his aunts Freya, Agatha and Octavia Dunsworth, who lived in Lochow, Scotland and never really had any contact with him or any other members of the family. Obviously, when my father died, I became the next owner.”

Ginny waited for him to go on, but he was silent.

“Something exploded there,” she said. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

He looked at her intently. “No, it wasn’t. I blew it up myself.”

Ginny gaped at him. “Why?”

He thought a while, then he said, “Have you heard of Horcruxes?”

Her face clouded over and she nodded gravely.

“Well, my father made one for himself. He knew his days were numbered. The other Death Eaters were dying, deserting the Dark Lord. He knew he wasn’t going to be spared. So, he had made a Horcrux before he was sent to Azkaban. Wanted to become immortal. He kept it in that house and I was the only person who knew about it. He told me to try to resuscitate him in case he died.”

“Did you?” Ginny whispered.

He shook his head resolutely.

“Not only was a part of his soul stored there, but a part of his anger as well. I was his son. His only child. When I decided not to go through with it and destroyed the Horcrux, his anger was released. And I blew up the house to erase every trace of the Horcrux.”

His mouth was firm and his steel-grey eyes were flashing angrily. Ginny had to fight the sudden impulse to kiss him. Kiss away the pain.

“I hope you won’t tell anyone. I don’t want people to know,” he said suddenly.

“Of course,” she nodded.

She wondered why he told her. He obviously trusted her enough to keep his secret. Did he…could he feel something for her, other than sexual desire?

Draco’s voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Maybe we can continue working on the manuscript,” he suggested.

He reached for his cloak and took out the silver filigree case. Then he unscrewed the top, took out the parchment and started reading. Ginny flinched. It brought back the memories of the past day.

“Listen, about last night,” Ginny started uncertainly. “I hope it won’t influence our working together in any way.”

He smirked and said, without even looking up at her, “I hope not.”

Ginny was vexed with him again. He tried to get her in his bed and never apologized for the way he acted. She was the only one to visit him in the bloody hospital and she didn’t even get so much as a ‘thank you’! She should have said no in the notary’s office!

Draco hemmed as he read, “I feel like I’m back at Hogwarts, with that brute of a-” he checked himself, seeing Ginny ready to explode.

When he finished reading, he looked up at her questioningly. “Any ideas?”

“No,” she admitted, “I keep thinking why he made an allusion to this manuscript. What kind of clues are we supposed to be looking for?”

Draco shrugged.

“This is so infuriating!” Ginny cried, her arms flailing in the air.

With her right hand she accidentally knocked down the glass with lavender-coloured potion that was standing on the night stand. It fell, splashing, in Draco’s lap, right on the parchment.

“Oh, Merlin! I’m so sorry!” Ginny apologized, rising to her feet.

Draco didn’t hear her as he stared at the left bottom corner of the manuscript. A dark-purple spot appeared there, growing and forming an oval shape. The blurry blob came into focus and a word became visible: DOLEROS. Now Ginny saw it too and her mouth flew open.

“What is it?” she croaked.

All of a sudden, Draco started laughing maniacally, pointing at the purple blob.

“What is it?” Ginny repeated her question, this time in a much angrier tone.

“Doleros is Greek for ‘spurious’, ‘deceitful’. Comes from the word dolos, which means ‘trick’,” he exclaimed.

“You mean this copy is fake?!” all colour drained from Ginny’s face.

“Absolutely,” he confirmed her words as he stopped laughing.

Ginny was almost on the verge of tears.

“We’ve done all that work for nothing?” she asked. “And you had to buy the bloody thing! By the way, you never told me how much you paid for it.”

“A lot. But that’s beside the point.”

“Why are you laughing then?” she demanded.

“It’s the most expensive thing I’ve bought in years and it turned out to be absolutely worthless! A third of my vault is gone!” he laughed again. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Ginny gave him a strange look and then turned away from him. She was disappointed. It seemed to her that the workload had increased, now that they had to take a step back.

“I wish we had the original manuscript,” she sighed.

“Ha! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Draco snorted.

“I guess, we’ll just have to work on the book and see what happens,” Ginny said.

He nodded wearily.

“Well, I’m going to go now,” she stood up again, “You need to get some rest. Besides, someone else might come to see you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Draco replied.

“Say, are you seeing Zabini’s stepsister?” Ginny asked suddenly, casually inspecting the duvet on Draco’s bed.

“Catherine?!” he burst out laughing.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m just curious. I saw you two in a restaurant the other day.”

“Seeing, as in shagging each other’s brains out?” he smirked.

Ginny nodded as her mouth curled in a smile.

“No. Not anymore, that is. We used to though, a couple of years ago. She’s still a good friend of mine.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, I hope you’ll get better soon.”

“So do I,” he replied with a sigh.

Ginny put her cloak back on and left the ward.

***

Three beautiful owls fluttered their wings as they alighted on her dining table and released the parcel from their beaks. The box, which was the size of a cauldron, was heavy and Ginny pitied the poor birds. The brown paper wrapping bore no marks, except for a warning on the side of the box:

ADVISORY

Dear customer,

Please take extra care in unpacking

this item as some parts will not withstand

rough handling.

Apprehensive, Ginny put her buttered toast aside and pulled the box towards her. She turned it around, and in the rays of the sun saw a small inscription in the corner. The name Draco Malfoy was encircled in a ring and adorned with curlicues.

She eyed the parcel apprehensively, for she suspected it to be some maledict object from Burgin and Burkes that had been sent to her with only one purpose - to get rid of her. Why Malfoy wanted to kill her per se, she did not know, but in the light of the past days she reckoned that he would do it just on principle. But then again, this was an odd way of murdering her, and besides not the best moment. He could kill her later, after she will have completed the work on the project.

Casting all her fears aside, she tore the wrapping and opened the cardboard box. Inside it, wrapped in three layers of black velvet, rested a looking-glass. Carefully, Ginny took it out and placed it on the table. The oval frame and the pedestal of the mirror were made of delicately carved cherry wood. The surface of the mirror was dull and opaque.

Ginny crossed her arms and stared at the object before her. It looked like an ordinary innocuous mirror, and yet she doubted that Draco would send her a mirror, even if it was ancient and beautiful. Upon some thought, she drew her wand out of the pocket and tapped the smooth surface. It did not budge. Ginny was a bit surprised, but she rather expected something like this to happen. Some complicated magic was involved. She nodded thoughtfully, then peered into its depths, bringing herself closer, and waited for something to happen. Still nothing. She tried her wand again, but the tarnished amalgam surface was adamant as ever and did not yield. She frowned and pocketed her wand.

Then, as the last resort, she touched the mirror with her bare hand. A tingling sensation traveled from the tips of her fingers through her body and before she realized what was going on, she was sent flying across the kitchen. She landed right before her fridge, hitting her head on the tiled floor.

She lay for a while, groaning and cursing the day Draco Malfoy was born. Then, at last, she got up and straightened her clothes. She touched her head and felt a very painful bump.

“It’s time to pay someone a visit,” Ginny grumbled, taking the box under her arm and Disapparating from her kitchen.

Within a second she was standing in the sitting-room of the Malfoy Manor.

“I suppose this is your idea of a joke!” she spat and hurled the package at Draco, who was conveniently sitting on the couch.

“Ah, Weasley! You have an uncanny ability of imposing upon my hospitality.”

“You wanted to kill me!” Ginny shrieked.

“As attractive as it seems, I wasn’t planning to. And you might want to be a little bit more careful with that thing, there is a very delicate object inside. Says so on the box.”

“Are you deaf?! IT NEARLY KILLED ME!” Ginny screamed. “What is this thing?”

“This is Speculum,” Draco replied. “It’s more than just a portkey or a time-turner, because it has the power to get you to any place and any time. Because the copy of the manuscript we have is fake, we have to get the original. You said so yourself. So, somehow we have to get to the Mancini library before it gets destroyed in the fire. The trouble is, I haven’t figured out how this thing works.”

“And the reason you sent it to me is?” Ginny asked viciously.

“Well, I figured that you might know the way to make it work,” he shrugged.

“Why should I?”

“Argh, because two heads are better than one! We are partners now, aren’t we?”

“Nice partnership, Malfoy! You spend a fortune on some artifact and I do the rest of the work! Guess what, I’m not so eager to do it just yet, because when I touched the bleeding mirror, it sent me flying across the room and now my head hurts like hell!”

Ginny flopped on the couch and put her head on the cushions. She closed her eyes and sighed. She didn’t hear Draco get up and walk up to her, and only when she felt a warm feeling inside her head, she opened her eyes. She saw him standing above her, with his wand pointing against the back of her head, his lips muttering a spell.

“What are you doing?” she turned to him abruptly, surprised that the pain was gone.

“A simple spell,” he said, as he walked back to his place. “A perfect remedy against hangovers and headaches.”

“Err…thanks,” Ginny muttered. “I feel much better now.”

He nodded and then said thoughtfully, “I wonder why it reacted that way.”

He took the mirror out of the box and set it down on the couch between them.

“Didn’t they tell you how it works when you bought it?” Ginny asked.

“I didn’t buy it. It belonged to my father,” Draco said, turning the mirror. “I found it yesterday in his study.”

“I was sure you bought it at Burgin and Burkes,” Ginny said.

“To kill you, undoubtedly. I’m not that predictable, Weasley.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and watched Draco study every inch of the mirror.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he asked her.

Ginny sighed. “I tried my wand first, but nothing happened. Then I touched it with my bare hand and the next thing I know I’m lying on the floor of my kitchen.”

“Hmm, fascinating,” Draco muttered.

“It is, isn’t it?” Ginny glared at him.

Draco laid his hand on the mirror to see what would happen. Nothing changed. He looked at it quizzically.

“Strange,” he said, putting the mirror aside. “I was hoping we could make it work and get that manuscript.”

“Yeah, I wonder what it looked like, the Mancini Library. Right before the fire on the 7^th of February

1523.”

“I think I’ve seen a picture in a book somewhere,” Draco said and stood up abruptly, heading towards the bookcases.

The mirror that was standing on the couch between them fell forward and Ginny caught it in time. The moment she touched it, mother-of-pearl sheen appeared on the surface, as if it was submerged in thick glaucous fog. Ginny gasped as she felt the familiar sensation on the tips of her fingers. Her body shook and her eyes watered. She tried to focus, but the room reeled. Until it vanished altogether.

It wasn’t anything like Apparating at all. It didn’t feel like her body went through a mangle. On the contrary, it felt rather pleasant. She tottered and her head felt fuzzy, like after a couple of pints of Madam Rosmerta’s best butterbeer. Then the drunkenness faded away and her head was once again clear and sober.

She looked about her, here eyes gradually adjusting to the dim light. She found herself standing in the middle of what she assumed was an entrance hall or an anteroom of some sort. The simple equilateral room was bare, save for the coat of arms above the heavy oaken doors in front of her. Solely guided by her intuition, she put her hand on the knob and turned it. The doors yielded with a creak and revealed a long winding corridor.

Her heart pounded. She had absolutely no idea where she was and how to get back to the manor. She hesitated, wondering if she should stay where she was and wait for Draco to help her out. She was afraid that maybe he didn’t know how to get her back either. Scared and hesitant, she stood there and did not move. But the feeling passed off gradually and she became very curious like the day she stumbled upon Narcissa’s boudoir. To alleviate some of her curiosity she decided to walk down the corridor.

After a while she entered a spacious vaulted hall. High twisted columns of dark granite supported the ceiling. The mosaic floor, stained glass windows, lancet arches and everything else in the hall was so incredibly beautiful that Ginny just stood there, staring in awe. Something caught her eye when she looked up at the vaulted ceiling. The central wedge-shaped voussoir bore a tiny image of a crane. For some reason it seemed very familiar. Ginny wished she could stay there longer and have a better look at it, but instead decided to move on.

She made her way down the passage that led out of the hall. She had a feeling that she was walking round in circles. Lost in the labyrinth of the passageways that looked absolutely identical, she paused. Suddenly, she felt something soft against her left ankle. She looked down and saw a Maltese cat at her feet. It meowed and rubbed its silky, bluish-gray body against her legs. Ginny bent down to stroke it, but the cat ran inside one of the corridors and meowed even louder. She followed it and saw it disappear further down the corridor. She tried not to lose it out of sight and had to quicken her steps. On the way, she barely had tome to admire the tapestries on the walls and the latticework on the windows.

She turned yet another corner and arrived at an open space. Here, the floors were decorated with back and white tiles and in the middle stood a sculpture of the Greek goddess Minerva, the patron of sciences and crafts. In her right hand she was holding an owl. Ginny laughed, because the owl looked exactly like Harry’s Hedwig. It was a very mysterious house, she decided.

She looked around to see where the cat had gone, but couldn’t find it. Moreover, she realized that the room only had one way out – a door in the opposite wall. Ginny approached it and turned the handle, but the door was locked. Puzzled, she wondered where the cat could go. She inspected every nook and cranny, even looked under benches, but, alas, found nothing.

Ginny was so absorbed in her thoughts, that when she heard muffled voices coming from behind the mazarine-blue banners hanging in the corner, she was paralyzed with fear. She was shaking as she slowly approached the banners and looked behind them. She was surprised to find a small gap there through which bright light filtered. Overtaken by curiosity again, Ginny plastered herself against the wall and peered inside the tiny gap.

The voices she had heard belonged to ten men that were sitting around a round table. They wore grey-and-white robes and most of them were aged and bearded, reminding her of a flock of peregrine falcons. The man who was sitting the closest to Ginny had pronounced features. Hoary hair was falling over his face. He was mumbling something and shaking his head. The rest watched him intently, waiting for something. Suddenly, a door opened, somewhere close to where Ginny was hiding, and another man entered the room. He had the same garments on, except he also had a tiny black cap on his head. The other men rose at once.

Ginny was about to dash back into the corridor, when she felt a mighty pull and everything grew turbid. The blurry images before her eyes were finally coming into focus. The marble mosaic floor and the bearded faces were replaced by the sitting-room of the Malfoy Manor. Right before her was sitting Draco Malfoy, an expression of immense relief lighting up his face.

She stared at him, her face ashen and her eyes wide with fear.

“You owe me an explanation!”

~~~

~> For a more detailed account of Ginny’s adventures at St. Mungo’s please read my other story, Endlessly. LOL!